Category Archives: playlist

In the early ’90s, when I was between the ages of 17 and 21, you could find me most weekends at 924 Gilman Street, an all-ages, non-profit, volunteer-run club in Berkeley that’s perhaps best known as the stomping ground of bands such as Green Day, Rancid, and AFI. It didn’t really matter who was playing—there was always at least one band on the five-band bill that turned out to be worth seeing. Sometimes a show even garnered national attention (e.g., the Insaints’ X-rated antics, the time Jello Biafra was assaulted by crusty punks).

My trips to Gilman grew increasingly infrequent with each passing year, even after Pyramid Brewery opened across the street and offered an alternative to Gilman’s functional but dank restrooms, sugar-laden snacks, questionable couches, and floor seating. (Pyramid closed last year.) I can’t remember the last time I watched all the bands…until last weekend’s two-day Uncool Fest.

So C and I are making a rock ‘n’ roll travel video series, the first of which focuses on the East Bay, and needed Gilman footage for it. Since I pretty much don’t know any of the local bands playing there these days, I was pleased to recognize a couple playing the second day: headliners SWMRS and opener Jakob Danger. Mind-bogglingly, both bands have the distinction of featuring the sons of Green Day’s Billie Joe Armstrong. How crazy is that?

Even crazier was the number of parents pressed up against the walls at the back of the room, no doubt wishing there was somewhere to sit or get a snack. Or maybe I’m just projecting.

But I digress. I arrived shortly before (who I thought would be) Jakob Danger kicked off the show and joined the gaggle of girls parked at the front of the stage. They were dedicated SWMRS fans, judging by their branded shirts and phone cases. Was this similar to what it feels like to attend a Justin Bieber concert? I’m sure I’ll never know.

In any case, the first band turned out to be Berkeley’s Mom Jeans. Jakob Danger had been moved to a middle slot, which is how I ended up staying for all six bands. Although, honestly, what would I have done between the first and last bands—shop for groceries at Whole Foods down the block?

All the bands, including San Francisco’s Dinosaurs and SoCal’s Melted and No Parents, were awesome and compelled sweaty, fervent pit action. The No Stagediving sign went unheeded. A giant dinosaur balloon bounced around the room during Dinosaurs’ set.

Throughout the night, the heaving crush of adolescent energy around the stage transported me back to my first few years at Gilman. In addition, I was headbutted in the face at one point and kicked in the head by a wayward foot at another, adding a corporeal element to my nostalgia. No wonder I didn’t take many photos back then! I was too busy thrashing around and surviving flying bodies and limbs to fiddle with a film camera. Oh well. I’ve since learned how to multitask a little better. Here’s a glimpse of the action, as well as my KALX playlist from 20 years ago.

Ty Segall, Charlie Mootheart, and Roland Cosio’s latest effort Fuzz channels early-era Black Sabbath punctuated with epic drum solos and a tornado of flying hair. Fuzz played a sold-out show at the Knockout a few weeks ago with Austin’s OBN III’s but I caught both of them the next night at 1-2-3-4 Go! Records. Bad Vibes opened the intimate show with a foreshadowing of the exuberant hair tossing to come; OBN III’s closed it out with a blistering garage punk set. (I was pretty sure I’d be partially impaled by a flying microphone stand. Miraculously, I walked away unscathed.)

Fuzz hits the Stork Club in Oakland this Wednesday (March 27) with Puerto Rico’s Los Vigilantes and Las Ardillas, both of which feature members of Davila 666. Here are some photos from the 1-2-3-4 Go! show, plus two GIFs (my first ever! Click on them to go to larger versions). Oh, and, of course, the rest of my KALX playlists from March 1994.

Bad Vibes | Canon 5D Mark 3, 17mm, 1/80, f4, ISO 10000

Bad Vibes | Canon 5D Mark 3, 23mm, 1/125, f4, ISO 10000

Fuzz

Fuzz | Canon 5D Mark 3, 17mm, 1/5, f6.3, ISO 400

Fuzz | Canon 5D Mark 3, 17mm, 1/5, f6.3, ISO 400

Fuzz

OBN III’s | Canon 5D Mark 3, 17mm, 1/5, f6.3, ISO 500

OBN III’s | Canon 5D Mark 3, 17mm, 1/5, f6.3, ISO 500

OBN III’s | Canon 5D Mark 3, 17mm, 1/5, f6.3, ISO 500

OBN III’s | Canon 5D Mark 3, 17mm, 1/5, f6.3, ISO 500

OBN III’s | Canon 5D Mark 3, 17mm, 1/5, f6.3, ISO 640

OBN III’s | Canon 5D Mark 3, 17mm, 1/6, f5.6, ISO 500

OBN III’s | Canon 5D Mark 3, 17mm, 1/5, f6.3, ISO 640

OBN III’s | Canon 5D Mark 3, 17mm, 1/5, f6.3, ISO 640

OBN III’s | Canon 5D Mark 3, 17mm, 1/6, f5.6, ISO 500

OBN III’s | Canon 5D Mark 3, 17mm, 1/5, f6.3, ISO 640

* = feature play $ = request

3/11/94: FRIDAY 9:30am-12pm

* STATE OF ALERT – Stepping Stone Party
CHRIST ON PARADE – Teach Your Children Well
GENE PITNEY – Town without Pity
CONFLICT – American Woman
* PICASSO TRIGGER – Rub a Dub

Even though February is only two or three days shorter than other months, its end never fails to catch me off guard! I had thought I’d spread out the posting of my old KALX playlists but that requires more planning than I’m prepared to handle right now. So here are my playlists from February 1994 in one gruesome, end-of-the-month glob. The first show had me tag-teaming with Jesse Luscious and it was a bit of a hot mess, but that’s what you’d expect pairing hardcore with easy listening.

Here’s also another Davey Havok essay (click for larger view; the first one appears here), written when he was 18. I wasn’t going to post one for a while but noticed that My Letter to the World #9 was published on February 23, 1994. It seemed fitting to include in this little musical time capsule. Enjoy!

If you’ve been a regular reader of this blog, you’ve likely come across a few of my KALX playlists from the early 1990s. Ever since I’ve started posting them, I’ve been marveling at all the bands I was soooo into for what felt like a lifetime (which is, granted, roughly 12 to 24 months in teen years) yet haven’t had any urge to listen to in nearly two decades.

Jawbreaker is one such band, and it looks like Blackball Records has recently reissued the Chesterfield King EP and Bivouac LP. I first discovered them within my first few weeks of college. Although I don’t recall the depth of my fondness for them, the fact that they were the first band I played on my very first KALX radio show on March 30, 1993, is very telling (as is the Chipmunks tune I played right after them). Coincidentally, they played at 924 Gilman St. that same night. I had interviewed them earlier that month for the third issue of my zine, My Letter to the World—once at their sold-out show at the Berkeley Square and, since the batteries in my tape recorder had died, again at a mariachi-loving café in the Mission, where they told me I had a child’s finger in my purse. They were 25 or 26 years old and I thought they were so wise, so “adult.”

Shortly after, I made my first trip to Sacramento with Nathan and Mickey to see them at the Crest Theatre. I don’t remember much about that show—come to think of it, I didn’t even recall going until I saw the Angelic Upstarts at the Colonial Theatre in 2001 and had a strange sense of déjà vu—but I somehow still have a live recording from their May 3, 1993, Gilman show.

And then I went home for the summer. My mom made me take a vocational class in summer school so I chose print shop. It was held in a continuation school for the expelled, unmotivated, and/or pregnant. Together we learned how to etch glass and screenprint, although I was by far the most enthusiastic of the bunch. They were all under 18 and much more interested in asking each other when their babies were due, who the fathers were, how much weed they had left over from the weekend, who hooked up with whom, etc. At one point they even asked me about my pregnancy because they assumed I wore non-skintight clothing to hide my baby bump. I was definitely the odd person out but we shared a love for oldies music. I finished the class with a bunch of handprinted Jawbreaker shirts and stickers as well as copies of issue six of my zine.

Later that year, Nirvana asked Jawbreaker to open six shows for them, which was a huge deal within the punk community because Nirvana was a major-label superband. (People were still in a tizzy from earlier rumors that Green Day would be signing to a major label.) I asked singer/guitarist Blake if he’d keep a tour diary while on that fateful tour and let me publish it. Surprisingly, he said yes. Since I doubt no more than a handful of people ever read the thing, I’ll be posting it here soon if you’re interested [4/8/14:here it is].

(Incidentally, in case you’re in awe of my ability to remember 1993 in such chronological detail, I’ll admit that I had to dig up copies of my zine, which I made between 1993 and 2001. You probably know some folks who can recall with frightening clarity what they wore on their first day of third grade and what they ate last Tuesday. I’m definitely not one of them, so I’m glad to have a record of that period of my life.)

Speaking of Jawbreaker, exactly four years ago today (really?! It seemed so much more recent than that!), I saw Thorns of Life, one of Blake’s projects, at Gilman when they passed through town. It was a trip seeing him on stage again—and Aaron Cometbus and former Gr’ups Daniella, for that matter. Did I break out and listen to all my Jawbreaker records afterwards? Nope, still no interest. But I did finally, recently, play their records for myself. Surprisingly, only a couple of songs really stood out (“Want,” “Busy,” “Chesterfield King,” “Sleep”; most of 24-Hour Revenge Therapy) and I wasn’t hit with crushing nostalgia like I feared. In fact, the songs no longer spoke to me like they did 20 years ago, which makes sense since I’m a different person now.

Here are my playlists from January 1994, the month Jawbreaker’s 24-Hour Revenge Therapy came out, judging by all the exclamation points on my playlist. In hindsight, I should’ve waited to start posting my playlists this year so that they’d be exactly 20 years old, but I had no idea I’d still be blogging, and I can’t predict that I’ll still be blogging a year from now. So enjoy, and thanks for stopping by.

Good god, the end of 2012 is nigh! There’s nothing like a blogbligation to force me to do something with my photos (in case you haven’t noticed, I have a terrible habit of copying the files to my computer and then forgetting about them). Here are some festive ones I took at the San Diego Zoo on Christmas Day 2010. Since my family doesn’t really celebrate the holidays, going to the zoo has become somewhat of a tradition for C and me. It’s open, there aren’t too many people around, and the animals seem to know it. We lucked out two years ago and caught the polar bears romping together in their enormous pool.

Since I’ve dusted off some old photos, I might as well share the rest of my KALX playlists from 1993 (check the end of this post). Yes, I know they’re pretty much the same as my October and November playlists from that same year. Yes, I’m aware emo hardcore and Broadway musicals don’t really mesh. Despite this, I’m doing a show today from 12:30-3pm PST and am considering playing a set from each. Tune in to see if sanity prevails!

How is it November already? These past few months have been a bit of a mental marathon for me, what with weddings, honeymoons, and funerals to tackle in addition to life in general. It continues today as I cram five decades of music into three hours (9am-noon PST, to be exact) on KALX to make up for my lack of participation in its 50th anniversary this year. Although I allotted 30 minutes per decade, I have a feeling the show’s going to sound not much different from what I usually do.

From my personal archives I dug up live performances of the Reatards (11/10/99) and the Mind Controls (05/06), as well as interviews with Jo Callis of the Rezillos (6/22/02) and a never-before-aired one with Matt Dangerfield and Honest John Plain of the Boys (9/23/00). I couldn’t find the recordings of my interviews with the Buzzcocks or Heavenly in 1994, but “spastic” comes to mind so that’s probably just as well.

Speaking of spastic, C and I will have a photo exhibit at the Rite Spot in San Francisco beginning this Sunday, with a reception from 5-8pm. Proceeds from all photo sales will go towards the hospital bills of our dear friend Reggie Destin, who was struck by a drunk driver while skateboarding in a Chicago bike lane; he died from his injuries a week later. We miss his warm smile, big laugh, and huge heart but will strive to live life as fully and selflessly as he did.

EATER – You
GRIMPLE – All Grown Up
STIFF LITTLE FINGERS – Can’t Say Crap on the Radio
* BOYRACER – I’ve Got It & It’s Not Worth Having
WIZARD OF OZ soundtrack – We’re off to See the Wizard
MUSIC MAN soundtrack – Gary, Indiana
TOY DOLLS – She Goes to Finos

Kowloon’s Nathan Road crackles with the energy of thousands of locals trying to get to work on time, touts hustling to unload watches and suits of questionable quality, and tourists struggling not to get swept away in the maelstrom. Even though Hong Kong doesn’t have a sticky-fingered reputation like Rome, Paris, or Barcelona, Nathan Road isn’t the kind of place I like to linger. Call me paranoid, but each second spent standing still on that street means one less personal item in my possession.

And yet one late evening on that very street, right outside our guesthouse, C stopped us because he needed to load a new roll of film into his Lomo.

“Can’t you wait until we get inside?” I asked, exasperated.

“I almost have it,” he said, fumbling with the camera and then dropping to one knee to fuss with his bag.

There weren’t many people out at that hour, but I kept up my guard, mentally choreographing ways to distract or disarm the guys loitering around us should they attempt to swoop in and relieve us of our belongings.

“Wait, here, hold this for me,” he said, reaching up and handing me a film canister.

I took it and tapped my foot, hoping the sound would hurry him up. Instead, he asked, “Can you open it for me?”

I sighed, flipped up the lid…and quickly closed it again. The blood drained from my face. My heart began pounding in my ears.

Sitting on top of the roll of film was a diamond ring.

“What the hell are you doing?!” I hissed.

I don’t recall much of what happened after that, but I’m pretty sure I yanked C up by the scruff of his neck before he could utter another word and marched us back to our room.

Had you told me 19 years ago that I’d be married someday, I would’ve either told you to shut the front door, laughed in your face, or punched you in the stomach, maybe all three depending on my caffeine intake at the time. It wasn’t because I doubted I might find that special person I’d want to love, confound, delight, and annoy for the rest of my life—I simply didn’t think paperwork and ceremony were necessary in what was essentially a matter of the heart.

C knew this about me. He knew I was adamant about not getting married. But somehow he decided to take a chance.

And he won.

Eventually.

Like, a year or so later.

Honestly, how could I listen to as much lovesick doowop and girl group songs as I do/did without expecting them to unearth my (deeply buried) inner romantic? Or maybe I was getting soft and sentimental in my old age. Whatever it was, staying stubborn became more challenging the more starry-eyed couples we met, the more tear-jerking vows we heard, the more heart-warming weddings we photographed. Didn’t I want to spend the rest of my life with him? Yes. So what did it matter that he wanted to make it “official” with a trip to city hall and some nervous hand-holding in front of dozens of pairs of eyes?

We got married two weekends ago and, I have to say, it wasn’t all that bad. In fact, it was head-spinningly, breathtakingly fun. Getting in touch with my crafty side at Jo-Ann’s helped me connect to an event I never imagined for myself, and somehow C and I cobbled together a wacky weekend filled with shaky tea ceremonies, bruise-free board breaks, ill-fitting rings, bathroom beauty parlors, lion dances, rickshaw smilebooths, too many mini cupcakes and barbecued pork buns, and wild performances by Gravy’s Drop, City Deluxe, and the legendary Roy Loney with his Phantom Movers. C, backed by City Deluxe, surprised all of us with his jaw-dropping rendition of Johnny Thunders’ “I Wanna Be Loved.” I may blog about some of the details once I’ve recovered but, until then, it’s easiest just to share one of the mixes I made for our reception:

Speaking of mixes, here are a few of my KALX playlists from 19 years ago, back when I lived on the third floor of a century-old wood-shingled house (above a strange family of five and their three dogs), back when I jumped at any chance to be on the air, back when I thought not a whit about my future. My song choices were limited and my segues were still awkward (input from Rancid’s Tim “Lint” Armstrong didn’t help) but I suppose they’re a good reflection of that brash, mercurial time in my life.